## Introduction
He is the youngest special chef of Chenguang Pavilion. His tongue can taste that there is 0.3 Grams of salt missing in the soup stock, but he cannot taste the taste of "fireworks gas".
An important banquet was returned to the menu, and the guest left a message: "I want to see the soul of traditional Chinese taste."
The master gave him an address - Osmanthus Alley in the south of the city, and asked him to find Xiang Qiuhua. But when he arrived, he only saw a young girl with a crooked ponytail and an apron full of traces of sauce, and a shabby little shop with oil stains on the wall.
"Looking for my grandpa? He has left. Now I am in charge of the shop."
A bowl of ordinary-looking fried rice, fried with leftover vegetables and scraps, made Zhou Yinan's chopsticks stop in the air. After taking the first bite, the taste world he was proud of collapsed - it was not precision or technique, but a hot, live flavor that he had never tasted in a professional kitchen.
"What base flavor did you add to this fried rice?"
"I won't tell you. Want to know? Come back tomorrow."
One is a cold chef who treats food as a precise art, and the other is a wild girl who cooks with intuition and pyrotechnics. When her small shop faces the crisis of demolition, when his professional stage needs a real soul - the encounter between the two people is a competition between spatula and silver needle, and it is also a redefinition of "taste".
He came looking for someone, but found something he had lost for a long time.
That bowl of rice, that light, that person.
*Some flavors cannot be given by Michelin. Only the iron pot deep in the alley can bring out the best taste in the world. *
